


Snow drifting

by goldstraw



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Post-World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 19:19:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13130325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstraw/pseuds/goldstraw
Summary: A bit of Christmas fluff for everyone!





	Snow drifting

Jaime watched as her blue eyes flickered between the opened envelope in her lap and his face. As usual, it was easier to read the warring emotions in her gaze than rely on her words. She looked pleasantly surprised, her mouth parted in a small silent gasp, thank the gods. But the ever slippery shadow of anxiety and politesse quickly followed and dulled her sparkling eyes. “This is too much, Jaime. I can’t possibly accept this.”

An exasperated tut escaped him before he could stop it. “It’s a gift, darl’. Of course you can—“

Her hands, her long fingers lifted and passed over the tickets, a sharp line of regret on her brow, before closing the envelope and offering it back. “I don’t have anything to give you in return that in anyway matches this. I’m sorry.”

“For gods' sake, woman. Think of it as a reward, then. I know you want to go home for Christmas.”

Her outstretched hand wavered and then retreated. “Yes, but—“

Jaime narrowed his eyes, leant forward. The scar on her cheek was lurid in the cold weather. Her eyelashes blinked furiously. He could sense how skittish she was, even now, years after they had met, been through a war together, and now were searching for a pair of sisters in the haystack and the horror of Occupied Germany with millions of internally displaced people and the refugees.  He’d watched how each heart breaking story had pummelled the girl opposite him so that every cell, thought and word came out bruised and pained. “Brienne— you need a rest—“

“We can’t give up now! We’re close—“

“We’ve been searching for months, traipsing across the country chasing down every potential sighting in every camp.  You’ve nearly got yourself killed—“ his eyes flicked to her cheek. “You won’t be able to keep looking if you run yourself into the ground.”

Brienne’s jaw set. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine.” He sat back and sighed. The café was filling up. Soldiers streamed in, bringing sharp gusts of snow cold air into the damp warmth and setting the tea cups and saucers rattling on the battered wooden tables. He was so tired he could barely remember the name of the town they were in. They all looked the same now: bombed out houses, streams of people with all their worldly belongings looking distraught and haggard. Empty shop fronts and long queues for anything worth buying.  He’d in been in the South East Asia theatre, and despite everything he’d gone through there, he hankered after that balmy warmth after months of cold.

Brienne paused, bit her lip. Jaime had learnt not to jump in in these silences, to wait for her to draw her thoughts together. He tapped a cigarette out of the pack, handling the lighter with only slight awkwardness in his left hand. He’d smoked a lot of cigarettes since it had happened.

“Come with me.” She spoke quietly but with a determination that was rarely revealed through words. “You’d be most welcome.”

He laughed instinctively, but Brienne’s face remained deadly serious. “There’s no need—“

“I won’t go unless you come with me. You too need a rest.”

Gods, he wanted nothing more to get away from this hell. But he hesitated, parried. “You don’t want me hanging around like a wet weekend, do you? I don’t much care for the festivities.”

She frowned, as he knew she would. Her stubbornness grew from strong and deep roots, and she could be unmovable as an oak tree. “I don’t mind that.”

“You’ve put up with me for far too long.”

The blue in her eyes turned a shade darker as she shook her head almost imperceptibly, before ducking her shoulders and standing up abruptly. “You must do as you wish,” she said, turning for the door.

“Brienne—“ his hand reached out to grab hers. But he was too late. She was already out of the door. Swearing, he slammed down a note and went after her. He spotted her blonde head ducking around a tank and down a side street. The snow was falling thickly now.

“Brienne!” he shouted. “Will you just—“

She spun her head round, but kept walking. “I want to be left alone!”

“I-I— didn’t think—“

“You never do!”

“Hey—“ By now he had caught up to her, and pulled her to a stop. “Look at me.”

Warm tears melted the cold snowflakes that landed on her pale face. Despite the layers of winter woollens, there was a surge of heat between them. Brienne’s cheeks flushed as she seemed to feel it too.

“You must know I would follow you to the ends of the earth… But you—you don’t seem to realise— for me to do as I wish would mean kissing you.” He glanced at her mouth, it wasn’t pretty, but her full chapped lips hid nothing from him and told the truth even when it hurt to hear it. To kiss them would be to sate a hunger deep within him.

Brienne suddenly reached to brush the damp, snow filled hair off his forehead. A Brienne type gesture of kindness, but the way her fingers lingered on his cheek was not typical, not at all. He mouthed her palm, his arm round her waist. It was a kiss of contrasts; her lips were cold and warm, her mouth eager and shy.

When they parted, their breath hung in clouds above them.

“Come to Tarth for Christmas?” she asked again, her gaze a soft blue now.

He murmured his yes against her lips.

****

Brienne’s father met them off the boat. He’d shaken Jaime’s left hand after a moment of hesitation at the man and the name, shyly introduced by Brienne as the wind buffeted them. Her father enveloped his daughter in a bear hug that could only be given by someone who was yet even taller than her. In any case, it was entirely disconcerting to see Brienne’s characteristics on another’s face, hear their tones of voice meld and see how well they fitted together as they walked up to the house. A pang of jealousy ran through him at the clearly loving relationship they still had. He thought of his own family: Tyrion was in London, their home empty and full of dustsheets. He didn’t know where Cersei had ended up after the war. Indeed, he had found after some thought, that he didn’t much care beyond a slight curiousness for completeness’s sake. And his father was very much cold in the ground. He was definitely gladdened by that knowledge. Brienne had found out about his complicated family issues as he bared his fangs and then his soul at the end of the war, and so did not push for stories of Lannister family traditions at this time of the year much to his relief.

The snow on Tarth was startlingly bright after the grey of Germany, the air clean and without the edge of death. Jaime had managed to wangle a hamper of food, a box of wine and even sacks of coal to land with them – a bloody miracle considering rationing had tightened another belt notch. For the first day or so, both had dark and dreamless sleeps, their bodies and minds exhausted. They ate and breathed and tramped round the island in long walks as they tried to forget the horrors they’d seen for months. Brienne proudly talked through where she had swam and run and the history of her isle; it was a different side to the girl he'd known. A confidence from being in her place, understanding what made it tick and how she fitted in. He could see why she had been desperate to get back, underneath the usual shield of armour. 

On Christmas day afternoon, after the goose was eaten and Brienne and her father exchanged small gifts which made them quietly smile and mince pies were snaffled, Jaime found himself next to Brienne on the ancient tattered sofa in front of the medieval hearth, a fire blazing away. Lord Selwyn had excused himself, and so it was the just the pair of them, a bottle or two of wine down. The alcohol had made Brienne’s cheeks pink, her laughs a little freer. The iron band around his chest had also loosened for the first time in ages. 

Jaime put an arm around her shoulders and drew her tight to him. They kissed slowly, like the lazy tendrils of the flames in front of them, until their lips tingled. Brienne, reddened, pulled away at last.

“Come outside. I want to show you something,” said Brienne, pulling at his hand.

He groaned reluctantly. He already missed her hands on him, the way her teeth caught his bottom lip. “It’s bloody freezing outside, darl’. And I was rather enjoying myself—“

Brienne quirked her head, opened her eyes a little wider in a not altogether innocent manner he could not seem to resist. “Please—“

They wrapped themselves in scarves and coats and pulled on winter boots.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Jaime as they shivered on the doorway.

“Just to that crest—“ she pointed to a hill a hundred feet away. They set off, crunching through the iced snow. The air was frozen still. Crystals formed on their eyelashes, their gulps of breath fogged their vision.

“This better be worth it.”

“It will be.”

At the top of the hill, they caught their breath.

“Look up,” whispered Brienne.

Above him were swirls and streams of green and blue, moving very slowly across the huge sky. He couldn’t help but gasp. Surely this was a sign of something good. It was too beautiful not to be.

“And now look at the sea—“

The lights were refracted and reflected in an infinite number of ways across the still sea. It seemed even more intense, as if they were in a dream. Below and above, they swam in a sea of colour in a land of white and it was utterly otherwordly. 

“You don’t normally get the Lights this far south but Tarth always had an odd climate and this freeze too helps. I spotted them outside my bedroom window last night."

"Do you mean I could have stayed inside, watched from your bedroom? You're a bloody tease, darl'."

She huffed next to him. "Stop it!"

"But you're right, it's stunning."

He felt her hand squeeze his, her shoulder next to his as it had always done. “Merry Christmas, Jaime.”

“Merry Christmas, Brienne.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is the best gift!


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